


Big Stick Diplomacy

by DorMarunt



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Acoustic Voyeurism (if that's a thing), F/M, Getting off, Other, Voyeurism, Young Andrés and Martín perpetrating crimes, someone's jerking it creepily in a dark hallway, stealing diamonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorMarunt/pseuds/DorMarunt
Summary: Everything was well thought out, it was an opportunity of a lifetime - minimal effort, maximum gain - but the girl? She was as oblivious as she was pretty. And she was very, very pretty. Martín was frankly impressed; Andrés had long abandoned his refined flirting and started laying it on thick, and still she was still acting as though courtship was an entirely alien concept to her.Andrés and Martín have only been working together for a couple of years, and they have a plan - a good plan - to steal some diamonds from the official residence of the Ambassador.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/OC, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	Big Stick Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

> Self indulgent, a bit silly, had a great time writing it (in, like, record time), hope you have a good time reading it too! <3

The Ambassador’s residence was… nice. Not too modest? Martín couldn’t describe it other than distinctly _average._ Which made the young woman’s impassioned history lesson all the more baffling. Oh, the house is a hundred years old? You don’t say, as if the floorboards didn’t loudly complain about every single one of those years. Sure, the house was nice - yes, damn it, just _nice_ \- but it was old, and, despite the concerted effort of an international grounds staff, it was barely in _okay_ shape. 

Not that Martín would have noticed any of this were it not for the Ambassador’s daughter, a pretty airhead-redhead who responded to Andrés’ suave advances with a detailed recounting of the building’s history. She didn’t even offer any information that they didn’t already have - not that they were after that, anyway. All they needed from her was for her to open two doors, and they both knew this would only happen with her opening her legs first - to Andrés, of course.

Understandable, really.

Or at least so thinks Martín, sitting on a chair that’s back to back with the couch where Andrés was working his knowledge about architecture in order to get into the girl’s panties - and room. She was just a means to an end - not that she had any idea, therefore any reason to be so damn oblivious to Andrés’ advances. But her bedroom opened into a small hallway and some stairs, at the end of which there was a small room and a door to the back garden. And Andrés and Martín _really_ wanted to get into that small room. 

See, that room currently contained precisely 155 diamonds and had absolutely no guards. No one was supposed to even know that tantalizing little fact, but Martín had gotten exceptionally lucky - and also, exceptionally ‘lucky’ - with one of the residence’s cooks a couple of nights prior. The guy had a fine sense of hearing and a very talented mouth, and had been very eager to spill overheard secrets to so-called ‘pretty boys’. Martín very much enjoyed being called that, but he enjoyed even more the bonus bit of trivia, and he started to work on a plan with Andrés the very next day. 

It was fairly simple. They intercepted an invitation to the Ambassador’s birthday party at the end of the week and made a fine imitation as means to get themselves in. While the Embassy was undergoing some renovations, Su Excelencia decided to store at the residence the small wealth of diamonds that they were supposed to take to a bank the very next Monday. All was done low-key, with minimal fuss, expecting no one to be any the wiser. 

Everything was well thought out, it was an opportunity of a lifetime - minimal effort, maximum gain - but the girl? She was as oblivious as she was pretty. And she was very, _very_ pretty. Martín was frankly impressed; Andrés had long abandoned his refined flirting and started laying it on thick, and still she was still acting as though courtship was an entirely alien concept to her. Martín started to have this awful, gnawing fear that he might have to try and seduce her himself, which was frankly mortifying, when the Ambassador finally left the large living room for a photo-op and the girl jumped to her feet immediately.

“My room, first floor, second door. Be precisely two minutes behind me, understood?”

Both Martín and Andrés did a double take at that, and Martín was really sorry that he could not see the look on his friend’s face at the abrupt change in her demeanor. He saw with the corner of his eye how Andrés nodded and she got up, heading for the stairs at the end of the room. He whispered a ‘same’ at Andrés, then went to mingle for a bit around the same stairs, keeping an eye on his watch.

He followed Andrés exactly two minutes after he went up, trying - and failing a couple of times - to keep quiet. It was the damned hundred years that had tendered the old stairs, making them creak with every other step. Luckily, the music from downstairs was still covering his movements, but he knew that once he reached the first floor, he wouldn’t be so lucky. 

Martín was hiding behind the curved staircase, trying to see if the door to her room had been left ajar - it had - and crouching to get as near to it as possible without being seen. Suddenly, there was a muffled thud, and he heard Andrés, much to his surprise, let out an amused laugh.

“So that’s how we’re going to play?”

“Yes. Now - be quick, be quiet, and _please god,_ be as good as you look.”

Martín’s lip curled at that; he was beginning to warm up to the girl. Well, not really, as she was having the honor of laying her nimble fingers on Andrés, while he, himself, had to listen to it all. And maybe even witness some of it too. 

It had been a couple of years since Martín started to work with Andrés - soon to be three years, not that Martín was keeping track, though he totally was - and recently he'd discovered this little thing about himself that he absolutely did not like: he had a big old crush on Andrés. A crush, like he had in high-school, all heart-eyes and songs of heartbreak, sweet dreams of loved-out bliss violently overtaken most nights by the filthiest, raunchiest fantasies that Martín had ever had. All of them featuring Andrés.

Who was now giving him a free show.

The noises coming through the door indicated that someone was being pushed against the wall, and it took Martín more than it should have to realise that it was Andrés, not the girl. A tantalizing image, Martín’s cock immediately agreed, starting to make itself more relevant to the proceedings than anyone had thought of or planned for. He took a sharp breath, trying to focus on the more important thing, which was: less of whatever the two were doing, and more of the opening the door to the hallway, the very one that gave them access to the corridor, and then, the diamonds. 

“I hate to be indelicate,” he heard Andrés deliver his exquisitely stupid excuse, “but seeing as to precisely where I plan to put these fingers, I think that I should probably wash my hands first.”

Martín tried not to chuckle, though the line had been his idea, at how stupid it sounded coming from Andrés’ mouth. It worked, though, because soon he heard twin footsteps followed by the heavy creaking of a door opening. All according to plan, then. Except, when the other door opened, faintly, in the small hallway attached to the corridor, it wasn’t followed by another similar sound. So the bathroom door was left open. Great, Martín could not sneak in. 

So he waited. He waited a bit, he waited a bit more, then the pair of steps scrambled back in the room, and then there was the squeaking of springs and, sure enough, muffled moans indicating that the two had landed on the bed. Martín hazarded a furtive look inside, and his suspicions were confirmed. Through the faint light coming through the curtains, he could see the shadows on the bed: the girl was straddling Andrés. It was too easy for her to simply turn around and see Martín sneak in, like a cartoon thief, and alert the staff. So he waited some more, until Andrés seemed to remember what he was there for, and he flipped her over, pinning her under his weight and slipping one hand under the hem of her dress. 

So yeah, maybe he was supposed to stare less, Martín was quite aware, but he couldn’t really stop, because hey, he had to make sure he wouldn’t be seen, so it was all necessary, really. Fortunately, Andrés seemed to be pretty proficient in whatever he was doing - Martín did _not_ want to know what exactly he was doing - and the girl was moaning sufficiently loudly for Martín to decide that it was as good a time as any to move. He took a few cautious crouching steps and entered the room, then got on all fours, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sometimes plans could be stupid and still work, Martín tried to remind himself.

Andrés was making good on his side of the plan, ensuring that the girl was well and truly distracted while Martín slipped into the small hallway with the bathroom and the corridor. The floor had creaked, yes, but not louder than the bed was currently creaking, and certainly not louder than the girl was moaning - her initial instruction to keep quiet obviously forgotten. 

It was torture; sweet, infuriating torture, to hear the noises that Andrés made just a couple of meters away. Close, but clearly not in a way that Martín would have liked. He waited at the end of the corridor, trying to will his erection away so he could have a clear head for the most important part of the plan - accessing the small room, snatching the diamonds, then waiting for Andrés back at the car. 

He did the first two easily - too easily for the amount of money they were stealing - but, just as he was heading out of the room and towards the door to the garden, he heard footsteps. Waiters, coming for some of the special reserve rum, he heard them complaining at the extra effort required of them. Martín surveyed the room quickly, then ran back up the stairs when he saw that here was nothing to hide behind. The diamonds were safely in the inside pocket of his jacket, and he was back in the small hallway, in his own acoustic hell of Andrés making not-at-all sweet love to that girl.

The waiters wasted a few precious moments gossiping about some official or other before taking with them a couple of the expensive bottles and leaving. And then, just as Martín got back to the foot of the stairs of the corridor, almost touching the door handle to get out into the garden outside, one of the waiters returned. Martín froze to the spot, the weight of the velvet bag burning a hole in his pocket. This was it - he was going to jail. Andrés would be fine, no doubt, but Martín? Definitely jail. He felt sick.

He instantly relaxed when the waiter just stood by the door and lit a cigarette. However, he felt too exposed, so as soon as the guy turned to see if anyone was privy of his cigarette break, Martín went back up the stairs. 

Fortunately, all this going up and down the stairs had finally seemed to tame his erection, but that all changed as soon as Martín was back in that stupid hallway, obscene slapping sounds escaping through the open door. That was no way to live, decided Martín.

“You’re a goddess, cariño.” He heard Andrés say, to which the girl responded with a clear laughter. 

“You know, you're not bad yourself. But I distinctly remember saying ‘be quick’, so-”

Then there came a surprised gasp from her, and a small shuffle in the bed.

“See, that goes against everything I believe in when it comes to pleasuring women. I’m going to be as slow as I fucking please, and you are absolutely _not_ going to be quiet about it. Okay?” 

Martín’s cock twitched at the tone of Andrés’ voice. That was- definitely something Martín had thought about once or twice. Or more.

Shuffling, steps - Martín freezes to the spot, stuck to the wall where he was - and a dull thud against the wall closest to him.

“Spread ‘em.”

Andrés.

Martín obeys as well, subconsciously. 

“There you go, sweetheart.” Soft moans escaped her, and Martín, well, he couldn’t blame her. His mind was already filling in the rest of the picture that the sounds were painting, and he imagined himself in her stead. 

“No.” Came Andrés’ voice, then another small thud. “I didn’t say you could move.”

Martín should know better, but he doesn’t. He barely knows anything, deciding that if he is to be caught with a bag of stolen diamonds, indecent exposure would fall pretty low on the list to add too much to his sentence, so why not. He makes a quick work of undoing his own belt and zipper, getting a hand around his cock. Just squeezing. 

“Mmm, such a good girl, so wet for me.” Croons Andrés, and it shouldn’t have such an effect on Martín. Then there was a loud moan from her and a low growl from Andrés that made Martín almost dizzy with arousal. 

“So tight.” Andrés almost whispers through the sounds of what could only be fucking, and Martín decides - in for a penny, in for a pound - and starts to jerk himself in earnest.

He closes his eyes, imagining himself pinned to a wall, legs spread, and Andrés plastered to his back behind him, fucking him while whispering in his ear.

“Bend over just- yeah, like that.” says Andrés, and Martín turns around, bracing one hand against the wall and spreading his legs just a little. He works himself, trying to match the sound of skin-on-skin that was getting lost in the muffled music coming from downstairs.

“Clench.” Andrés orders, and Martín’s eyes flutter open with a small gasp. A low growl rumbles from Andrés, and Martín feels it low in his gut. New sound, favorite sound; he files it to revisit later. 

“You like it?” Martín finds himself nodding as he spits in his palm, starting to jerk himself faster, trying to keep up with the pace dictated by the two. “So you want it rough, huh?” 

_Christ._

Absolutely not a kink that Martín had, not until a few minutes ago, at least, but apparently he was stupid-hard for Andrés talking dirty - _even to women._ He took full advantage of this new development, focusing on making himself come.

There’s a different kind of shuffling, and then the girl gasps a “What are you-” then moans. “Oh my god, you’re really-” more moaning, “good at this, really guh-” and there’s a muffled groan from Andrés and Martín tries to picture what’s going on. They’re not fucking anymore, which can only mean- oh.

Martín feels himself flush. That’s- that’s a really good mental picture. Sans lady-bits, of course, and with one hundred percent more Martín under Andrés’ filthy mouth.

Her moans stop with a sweet sigh, then Andrés gasps, “You taste so good.”

Martín’s every muscle is coiled under his skin, the hand planted against the wall so tense it’s almost shaking, the other one working to bring himself off as quickly as possible. Soon enough, the sounds indicate that Andrés resumed fucking the girl, moans escaping her with every thrust. 

“You take it so well. Yeah, push back, there you go.”

Then a slap.

A fucking _slap._

Martín almost loses it right there.

“Ride it, baby.” says Andrés, and Martín absolutely comes, vision sparkling white around the edges as his thighs flex and clench and he paints the wall with streaks of hot come. Almost instantly, the girls’ moans increase in pitch and she undeniably comes too, her noises fizzling in a soft sigh.

“Good girl.” Martín smiles, dumbly. He tends to agree. But Andrés continues.

“Legs too shaky?” Then, after a second, there was the sound of rubber stretching - he was definitely taking off the condom - and he gave another instruction. “On your knees then, open up.”

Martín felt his cock give a twitch, but he decided to ignore it. He grabbed his pocket square, reluctantly cleaning the streaks of come trickling down the wall, then, when he was satisfied that he’d left no obvious evidence of his deviant activities, he put the crumpled thing in his pocket, gagging just a bit as he did so.

His legs were also shaky, and while he wouldn’t mind finding out exactly how the rest of the night goes for Andrés - he had a suspicion that he knew, anyways - he headed for the bottom of the stairs. Luckily, there was no one there anymore, and he opened the door and managed to sneak out of the garden and back to their car. 

He may not be proud of what he did, but he was definitely satisfied. 

It didn’t take all that long before Andrés joined him in the car, closing the door and instructing Martín to leave immediately. 

“Do you have them?” he asked, splaying back against the car seat. 

Martín nodded, still a little dazed and flushed, trying not to look like someone who jerked off in a dark corridor at the sounds of his friend fucking some woman. Andrés smiles at him in the rear view mirror.

“Good performance out there, by the way. Really stealthy. I bet it was satisfying.”

Martín almost crashed the car against the head of a bridge.

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of @reasonoptional, who is a joy and a wonder, and without whom this fic would have a normal, boring title. 
> 
> Come say hi [, I'm still learning how to communicate to other humans! <3](https://dormarunt.tumblr.com/)


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